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Chapter 08
The assistant instructor grumbled as he made his way to the auditorium.
“I might really just quit…”
It was his third year as an assistant.
He knew.
To become a full professor, you had to obey the professor’s words without question. Only then could you get a recommendation letter and have an edge in a professorial appointment.
A professor’s word was law.
Dirty and unfair as it was, he had chosen to be an assistant when others were joining prestigious knightly orders or opening academies. This was something he had to endure.
Anyway, today the assistant was heading to the auditorium to meet Giel. He planned to follow the professor’s instructions, at least to get a feel for things.
“Surely the royal family isn’t really backing him.”
Professor Elcanto must have been completely mistaken.
Does it even make sense?
“Why would someone backed by the royal family become a liberal arts instructor?”
If Giel really had royal backing, it would make more sense for him to become a full professor—or at least some department head, not a mere instructor.
“Almost there…”
Checking the time, the assistant arrived at the auditorium and opened the door.
And he was at a loss for words.
“W-what is this?”
Screams filled the room.
“Ugh!”
“Argh!”
“Ah!”
Students kept falling and getting up repeatedly.
Whenever they got up, they looked around, and each time, without fail, they were knocked down again.
“What… are they doing?”
It was supposed to be a self-defense class.
Why were all forty students lined up in five rows getting hit? By the instructor, no less.
“What… is this?”
Some kind of new punishment method?
As the assistant muttered in disbelief, another student collapsed.
A face that immediately caught his eye.
Delebre Kundel.
And yet, despite being hit, Delebre wore a strangely delighted expression.
“I just saw it…”
He even suppressed his frustration as if it were a shame to miss something. Other students weren’t much different.
They fell, got up, and some even regretted failing to defend properly.
“So it’s not punishment?”
The assistant was utterly perplexed.
‘These aren’t students who’d just take a beating quietly.’
Well, most weren’t. Some came from well-known families.
In the cases of Kundel and Richard, even professors respected them.
Yet now, including Kundel and Richard, all the students were participating without the slightest complaint.
“What on earth did he do…?”
Meanwhile, the students kept falling. Every now and then, Giel would appear and give advice.
“Karen, that move was too fast. Prediction is good, but only execute when you are certain. Next time, try to adjust your timing and raise your arm.”
“Yes! Yes, teacher!”
“I’ll review it again later.”
Giel then pretended to move behind Yurio Harmatan, only to appear again in front and lightly tap his chest.
“Hah.”
“An ambush can come from front, back, left, or right. Remember that. Heighten your awareness as much as possible.”
Giel repeated these surprise attacks randomly, giving advice with each strike, and the assistant noticed something remarkable.
The students were laughing.
Those who almost blocked the attacks but didn’t manage to were smiling.
“That was close!”
“That was good, but you were only looking left. Keep your eyes a little to the right next time, and you’ll be able to block this speed.”
Was this really what self-defense was like?
The assistant recalled his own days as a student at this Sword School. Liberal arts classes were always like this.
Laughing, chatting, preparing for major exams—nothing serious.
Liberal arts classes were just something you attended to check the attendance box. If you skipped, you’d lose credits, so everyone came, but neither instructors nor students were motivated.
“Hah.”
Giel Steelheart.
What kind of person was this?
‘Does he really have royal backing?’
Otherwise, there was no way students would follow so obediently. Normally, instructors of liberal arts were lucky if students even called them “teacher.” Thanks to the poor treatment at Edelvine Academy, the level of applicants was low.
“Celia, raise your arms higher. If your opponent had a weapon, you could have been injured.”
But Giel Steelheart was different. Forget the backing…
He was fast.
Fast enough that even the most focused students struggled to respond.
Even with repeated attacks, there should have been a time they could block.
“…What kind of person is this?”
Bang!
A smoke bomb went off.
Most students were disoriented.
Through the thick smoke, students fell again.
“What kind of class is this?”
When the smoke cleared, Giel called for a break.
“Fifty minutes have passed. Ten minutes rest, then we continue.”
Immediately, the students collapsed or sank into chairs.
Fifty minutes of maximum focus was no easy feat.
Tensing every muscle to prepare for counterattacks was even harder.
It was a teaching method he had never seen or heard of before. Yet somehow, it didn’t look bad to the assistant.
“Let’s start again.”
After ten minutes of rest.
The assistant could see the students improving, little by little.
“I blocked it!”
“That grazed me, Celia.”
“You’re still giving us praise cards, right?”
“No. You must block completely.”
Students adapted to the speed—or maybe Giel slowed it down—and they got better.
The assistant watched, forgetting his original purpose.
The most noticeable student was Delebre.
“Delebre Kundel, your rotation on the right foot was too slow just now.”
“This time I almost blocked it.”
“No. You didn’t. Could you say that if you were stabbed?”
Though Giel spoke like that, the students knew.
They were improving by applying his advice.
‘Following the teacher really works.’
‘Maybe my timing is getting better?’
Even if Giel wasn’t moving at full speed, it was encouraging for them.
Soon, no student was taking the class lightly.
They weren’t disobedient; they just hadn’t focused in liberal arts classes before.
Even upperclassmen had said so. No one took liberal arts seriously.
But experiencing the new instructor’s class, it seemed worthwhile.
It was shocking at first, then exhausting…
Gradually, they felt progress. Not just from familiarity.
“Delebre, block higher. Focus on the sounds behind you.”
“Karen, your right leg is too stiff. Relax and move faster.”
Each time they applied Giel’s advice, they got better.
And with Delebre and Richard so enthusiastic, others couldn’t avoid it.
However…
“Ah! Damn… what’s the use of this!”
Some students still resisted.
They fell and failed to defend all class, yet refused to accept it.
“Just taking hits… how is this a class…”
Maris Sopen.
The student caught using magic in the last class.
Muttering as if to make sure everyone heard.
“What can you teach with this? Damn it.”
The Sopen family. Right below the empire’s top five noble families. Maris, eldest son, was offended by the last class.
‘He just used magic, why call him out separately?’
Karen sighed next to him.
From the start, he had acted like a top-five noble without being one.
“Hey, don’t you agree? Wait, what’s your name?”
Karen ignored him deliberately. Maris scowled.
“Hey, can’t you hear me?”
Right then, as Giel moved toward another student, he headed for Maris.
“Hey, keep quiet, I can’t focus with you talking.”
From behind came a sharp reprimand.
“What?”
Maris gave a nervous laugh, then gasped.
“Are you the only one in class? Shut up. Why keep whining? If you have complaints, leave.”
“D-Delebre, it’s not like that…”
Delebre Kundel.
‘He wasn’t behind me before?’
He had been a little distance away.
“You’re distracting me, so shut up.”
“Uh, okay…”
“Don’t understand?”
“Okay, got it.”
Kundel. A family intertwined with the empire’s founding history. Recently rising, but still overshadowed in history, tradition, and prestige.
Maris quietly shut his mouth, glancing back. Karen clicked her tongue. Pathetic.
“Ugh!”
He even got a tap from Giel when turning around.
“Damn!”
“Maris, one more time talking and it’s a warning.”
“And if you have a complaint about my class, tell me directly.”
“…Yes.”
The assistant shrugged at the scene.
‘That’s how it always is.’
What can you do in front of noble families, especially top-five families?
Still, Delebre’s proactive stance was unusual.
‘Does he really not dislike Giel?’
After taking a beating in the first class, the assistant thought something would happen, yet he quietly helped.
‘What’s going on? Could Delebre know about Giel’s backing?’
Royal backing.
‘No way…’
Truly, a professor’s insight. A professor is not to be underestimated. Not a position gained by some dart-throwing contest.
Meanwhile—
“Delebre Kundel, your reactions are slower than before. Focus.”
“Ugh!”
Delebre looked at Giel and, in a moment of carelessness, got hit.
A little unfair. He had just helped.
He mentioned it, hoping for some recognition.
“Ah, teacher, don’t worry about earlier. I thought your focus was dropping, so I said a word…”
“Leaving your spot reduces focus more.”
“….”
He regretted helping.
“Pfft.”
Laughter from nearby—Celia.
‘Damn it.’
“But thanks to that, Karen seems to have regained focus. Well done.”
And then Giel left.
Delebre was left in confusion. Was that really praise?
